


I Didn’t Know Where Else To Go

by wannahearitinspanish



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, But sometimes useful, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Derek Hale is Not a Failwolf, M/M, Mates, POV Stiles Stilinski, Peter is creepy, Scott McCall (Teen Wolf) is a Failwolf, Season 3 - Canon Divergence, Sheriff Stilinski Finds Out, Stiles Stilinski Deserves Nice Things, Takes place in Season Two, They are both Nice Things, alpha pack, this is a lil angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:54:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25963168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wannahearitinspanish/pseuds/wannahearitinspanish
Summary: “Stiles?” Derek says again, tentatively, and it takes Stiles a moment to realize that he was shuddering violently.He opens his mouth, finds it dry, and chokes a little as he rasps out; “I didn’t know where else to go.”He feels almost ashamed saying it out loud.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 22
Kudos: 1060





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles doesn’t know why he's here. 

Because him and Derek are definitely not friends. He doesn’t even think he and Derek are  _ acquaintances _ \-- they’re just two strangers tangled into the shitshow that is Beacon Hills. Two strangers joint together in their mutual desire to help Scott get his shit together. Two strangers joint together in their attempt to help fix the what new problem they have when Scott’s too busy mooning over his werewolf hunter of a girlfriend to help his best friend. 

They both have an understanding; they do the dirty work. They do whatever it takes to get rid of the Big Bad, and when Scott swoops in at the last minute, saves both their asses from dying, and somehow lands the metaphorical killing blow -- they both keep quiet and go their own ways. 

Stiles knows he should probably go home; should probably save his dad from the wreck he’s most likely been experiencing the second Stiles disappeared at the end of the lacrosse game. 

But the thought of his facing his father -- the thought of looking into his father’s tired eyes, bloodied, beaten near-limp, and having to _ lie again... _ Stiles isn’t in the mood to do that. 

He can’t, he  _ can’t _ do that. Can’t look into his father’s eyes; look into those eyes and lie, because he knows his father won’t believe him. Knows his father is going to be worried, frustrated, annoyed to death…

Knows his father will be disappointed. 

Or worse;  _ resigned _ . Like he hadn’t expected anything different from the son who's been lying right to his face for the past several months. The son that’s been getting somehow involved with nearly every single crime that’s been going in Beacon Hills lately. 

Back to point in case; Stiles doesn’t know why he’s here. But before he can actually think coherently enough to realize that maybe this isn’t a good idea, he’s already making his way through the clearing of the trees, towards the porch of the old Hale House, swaying in his steps. 

Thankfully, Derek seems to have heard him, because he’s suddenly flying out the door (if you could even call it that) eyes burning red in the dark. He makes it to Stiles in an impressive speed; eyebrows pulled together in what might have been concern, if he actually had emotions like a normal huma-- _ werewolf _ ? Like a normal  _ person _ . 

_ “Stiles?” _

Stiles would have normally said something witty. Something clever and dumb and sarcastic like;  _ No, sourwolf, it’s Erica; can’t you tell? _ Except that only conjures images of said blonde being electrocuted in the very basement Stiles spent the last couple of hours being beaten to a pulp in and instead he breaks out into a cold sweat as the panic rakes through his entire body. 

He gasps; focuses on breathing instead. Except his ribs are probably broken and any sharp intake of air only causes it to hurt. 

“Stiles?” Derek says again, tentatively, and it takes him a moment to realize that he was shuddering violently. 

He opens his mouth, finds it dry, and chokes a little as he rasps out; “I didn’t know where else to go.” 

He feels almost ashamed saying it out loud. 

Derek looks completely concerned now; he reaches a hand out -- as if to steady him -- and Stiles hates himself for noticing how even in the dark the older man is so completely and perfectly gorgeous. His muscled arms on display through his white wife beater; his tattoo curling the nape of his neck visible, almost  _ glowing _ in the moonlight, his face was perfectly stubbled and made his cheekbones look even  _ sharper _ than they already were. 

Stiles feels the world tip slightly, or maybe that was just him, and suddenly Derek’s all up in his business, looking so utterly worried it almost makes Stiles want to laugh because since when did  _ he _ care? He shivers again, leans heavily against the scorching wall of muscle and the soothing scent of the woods, and smoke and cinnamon and  _ Derek.  _

He tunes back into Derek repeatedly calling his name; voice nearly a growl now as Stiles falls into his arms like a goddamn swooning maiden. From his peripheral vision he sees movement from inside the house, and thrashes a little in panic -- before realizing that --  _ Jesus Fucking Christ _ \-- it’s only fucking Peter who,  _ okay wow how much did he exactly miss? _ , was apparently either alive again or just a figment of Stiles hallucinations and it actually makes him laugh him how horrible both options are because he honestly doesn’t know which he prefers. 

He doesn’t seem to have any time to mull over it however, because Derek’s already sweeping him into his arms bridal-style and running inside the old Hale house. Through his slips of consciousness he hears Derek demanding him to ‘ _ stay awake dammit, Stiles’  _ while simultaneously growling Peter to keep away. 

He doesn’t know what it is, but he finds himself relaxing for the first time since Gerard’s got a hold of him at the field -- knows somehow that he’s safe with Derek. Not just safe -- he’s  _ relaxed _ around Derek,  _ comfortable _ with him -- more than he was with Scott, more than he thinks he is around his father now, with everything going on, and that’s a tidbit of information about himself that he really didn’t want to evaluate. 

But maybe...Stiles thinks, blinking blearily at the Alpha as he holds the teen against himself, almost in a gentle  _ cradle,  _ face looking weirdly  _ agonized _ at Stiles' pain -- maybe he doesn’t mind evaluating it. 


	2. Stay (The Werewolf Drugs Made Me Say It)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles didn’t know when this became a thing. 
> 
> Like an actual thing. Something that he and Derek did, something no one else knew about. It was like another unspoken agreement between the two of them -- they wouldn’t lie about it explicitly, but wouldn’t offer up any information on it either. 
> 
> He didn’t know when it started, or how it started, but suddenly he and Derek couldn’t sleep without the other lying in bed next to them.

Stiles didn’t know when this became a thing. 

Like an actual thing. Something that he and Derek did, something no one else knew about. It was like another unspoken agreement between the two of them -- they wouldn’t lie about it explicitly, but wouldn’t offer up any information on it either. 

He didn’t know when it started, or how it started, but suddenly he and Derek couldn’t sleep without the other lying in bed next to them. 

It began after that night when Stiles turned up in front of Derek’s house, beaten and bloodied. He could still remember the way Derek curled around Stiles for hours, even while Deaton worked on his bruises and scars, the way the werewolf growled whenever someone else came even close to him. It was nice, being cared for - being _protected_. 

And even after they parted ways, after he returned to his dad, after Lydia showed up in his room - after Jackson died and was resurrected _again,_ after Scott had betrayed them all, after Gerard finally died...he could still feel the phantom heat of the werewolf wrapped around him, could feel it even while he tossed and turned in bed, trying to get some rest after what was possibly the longest night he’d ever had since his mother died. 

He’d given up at around 4, and instead sat awake in the dark, doing absolutely nothing but stare at the wall while he waited for the sun to rise outside his bedroom window. 

That was when he heard it; the telltale creak of the glass pane as the window slid open, the rustle of clothing as someone slid inside, turned to face the bed and froze when they saw him awake. 

“Dude,” he said. “You’re lucky the rest of the town’s asleep - that’s freaking creepy you know?” 

Derek unfroze, the werewolf looked so incredibly panicked that if it were any other night Stiles would have probably milked it out some more, probably laughed in his face. 

But it wasn't any other night, and even beneath the scowl and panic he could see the utter exhaustion on his face. 

Maybe that was what prompted his next move; shuffling on the bed until the side closest to the other men was bare, then pulled back the covers until there was a welcoming empty space next to him. “You look _wrecked_ , man.” 

Derek stood, still scowling near the window, looking like he wanted nothing more than to slip out again, although he was eyeing the empty space like it he didn’t exactly know what it meant. 

“Why aren’t you sleeping.” he said instead, and the lack of punctuation made Stiles almost want to smile. 

“Can’t,” he said hoarsely, licking his lips. He tried for a shrug, but ended up wincing with the pain it caused him. “I guess getting beat up, then running your jeep into a wall and into a lizard really causes some pain.” He tilts his head, studying the man warily. “Why are you here?” 

But it didn’t seem like Derek heard anything past that first sentence, because his face flashed with a gut-wrenching amount of concern, and he fluttered silently to Stiles' side. _“Where.”_

Ah, there’s the lack of punctuation again. He shrugs again - spasms with pain - “Kind of … _everywhere_.” 

The eyebrows pull together, a small puckered _v_ hanging between them. Suddenly there's a heavy and hot hand clamping gently down on his wrist, and he watches in fascination as something black runs down the lines of the man’s veins, disappearing along with the aching. 

“Wow,” he slurs, suddenly feeling light-headed. “Man, that's amazing. What is that, drugs? Did you drug me? Did you werewolf drug me with your touch, somehow?” He doesn’t know how much of that is exactly coherent, but it seems like the answer is _enough_ , because Derek huffs out what sounds like a fond laugh of exasperation. 

“No.” he said, “I took some of your pain.”

“Took it how?” he mubles, because there’s something he definitely wants to know more about _asap_ , except he suddenly feels tired - no, _exhausted_ \- utterly wiped out, like he genuinely can’t keep his eyes open for a second longer. He finds himself easing back onto his pillow, sliding under the suddenly inviting covers, the only thing on his mind was _sleep_ , and tries not to think about how utterly satisfied Derek looks at what he just did, like taking Stiles pain was something to preen about. 

“Sleep, Stiles.” he says instead, the voice a quiet whisper despite the fact that they both knew no one else was in the house other than the two of them. Then he stands up, turning to face the window again when Stiles grabs his hand -- not exactly sure why he does so. But when Derek turns back with a raised brow, he blames the werewolf drugs for the reason why he whispers, _“Stay.”_

It takes the man about one minute and forty-five seconds, Stiles actually counted - half-asleep and delirious, but still aware enough to do that, before he slipped off his boots and leather jacket and slid into the now cold space next to him. 

And if Stiles woke up to find him curled into the man’s embrace, whose arms were tight around the teenagers waist like he was scared to let go? Well he would just say it was cold that night. 

*****

So that was how their little arrangement started. Every night Derek would slide into the window, and without a word Stiles would shuffle over and let the man slide in bed next to him. They would start on either end of the bed -- staying strictly within their boundaries -- which was useless, because they both knew when they woke up (those mornings that Derek actually stayed long enough for them to both wake up, anyways) they would be wrapped up in one another, their legs entangled and arms wrapped tight around the other. 

It was interesting, however, that although they didn’t explicitly mention the _cuddling_ (Stiles always whispered that word, it feels like it should be whispered, like it shouldn’t be said out loud - especially when referring to the two of them) during the day they actually spoke more to one another. Especially when Stiles decided Scott grovelled enough for every shitty thing he did the past couple of weeks, including coming up with some secret plan and betraying Derek’s trust, lying to Stiles and then _not searching for him_ then failing to check up on him afterwards because he was too busy mooning with his girlfriend, (well ex, now anyways). Then Stiles suddenly became the mediator between the two werewolves, both refusing to speak to one another. 

Honestly, he was firmly on Team Derek on that stance -- being violated like that...no one enjoyed it. And Stiles loved Scott like a brother, but the kid was a stubborn brat on things he thought he was right on - no matter how many times people told him he wasn’t. Sure, his shitty plan somehow worked out at the end - but it was a _shitty plan_ and forcing Derek to give Gerard the bite was an even shittier thing to do. 

Stiles also ended up getting more information on that werewolf drug, ( _It’s not a drug, Stiles. It’s just me taking the pain.” Derek growled for the fifth time looking up from where he was sitting)_ and learned that apparently Scott _knew_ about it, and showed Isaac too, which _no_ , he was _not_ jealous about. (Okay maybe a little, but no one but him would ever know). 

When he asked Scott why he didn’t just do that for Stiles, he gave him a little frown, and told him that he can’t do it for humans -- it only worked for animals. So Stiles just assumed that taking pain from humans was more an Alpha thing, but he didn’t get why Derek got so shifty about it or why Peter smirked and sneered repeatedly when he asked them about the matter. 

Speaking of Peter, it was interesting how coming back to life seemed to...stabilize him somehow. He wasn’t saying he still didn’t have pockets of vial filled with both mountain ash and wolfsbane every day just in case the man went berserk, but it seemed like the new Peter, after having his revenge, was more interested in some downtime reading and shopping off of ridiculously expensive stores than another round of serial killing. 

It surprised Stiles how much he got along with the older werewolf, actually having someone who can match up to his snarks and extensive knowledge of the most insignificant things. 

Lydia, of course, was another person. She - along with Jackson, who was less a douche and more just someone Stiles enjoyed exchanging light insults with - officially declared themselves Pack, and began hanging around more in a way to gain some stability. 

It was even more of a shock when he and Peter tag-teamed Derek into rebuilding the Old Hale House back into its former glory, and then forced him to rent a loft mid-downtown while the construction happened. 

Stiles was glad, actually, since it now gave them a second location for the _cuddling._ Especially for nights when the house just seemed a bit too large and a bit too empty, his father's disappointment, and the quiet, resigned looks pricked more than usual, and his breathing seemed to come in pants instead of even inhales and exhales.

*****

So of course, when everything seemed to be going perfectly, things had to come crashing down. 

The Alpha’s were a long time coming - they’d regularly discussed it. Planning and overplanning and scheming ways to present a united front that’ll _hopefully_ scare them away. Scott had only just reluctantly begun incorporating himself into the pack more, pushed by an over-enthusiastic Stiles and a quiet but firm Isaac who were both tired of being split. Allison was long gone to France, along with her dad ( _“Good riddance,” Stiles had huffed when it was just him and Derek in the loft, whose lips twitched upwards in amusement_ ) 

Their pack wasn’t as large as they’d have preferred it to be, and Peter was still a wild card - who everyone was completely certain would run to save himself the second he sensed they were on the losing side, so it was only natural someone would get hurt. 

Stiles knew it would be him; holding nothing but a baseball bat and one single flask of a molotov cocktail, he was bound to get injured. Had _expected_ it too. But it doesn’t mean it still didn’t hurt like a bitch, and wound his pride some more. 

They forgot to account for the missing betas. Had run over everything they could -- but didn’t account to run into Boyd and Erica - both out of their minds and only focused on killing them, which they firmly didn’t want to do - being _hostages_ , instead of off frolicking with some other pack.

Stiles paused; mountain ash still clutched in his hand - not willing to throw it around the only standing Alpha left; not with Boyd and Erica still there flanking him - eyes still glazed. Throwing the makeshift bomb would only light the betas up as well. 

That’d been his mistake. 

Because they forgot to count the Alphas, with everything going on around them, and no one realized until she crept up behind Stiles and yanked him backwards; claws to his throat. 

“Well, well, well,” she crooned, and Stiles really wanted to roll his eyes at the lame cartoon-y lines. “Look what we have here?” 

_A human. Wow. Never seen those before?_ He wanted to snark, but the look of utter _fear_ of Derek’s face made him stop.

The others stilled in their attack, Scott turned wide-eyed in Stile’s direction, Isaac and Jackson still circling the male alpha.

“The alpha’s unbonded _mate_.” the alpha sneered, her eyes on Derek. 

Stiles stilled, his own confused, wide eyes meeting Derek's panicked ones. Derek, who looked more enraged than Stiles had ever seen him. Derek, whose focus was on Stiles this entire fight. Who gave into his prodding to get a new apartment, gave into his suggestions of rebuilding the house, who cuddled (he didn’t, couldn’t, whisper the word this time) with him every night, who could take Stiles pain even though other werewolves could only do that to animals…

Oh my god, he was Derek’s _mate_. 

“How will you feel when I rip this little one's throat out, huh?” she continued, and smirked with satisfaction when Derek responded with a bone-shaking roar of pure, instinctual _rage_. “Or maybe,” she pressed her claws deeper - causing Stiles to wince against his will as he felt blood prick out. “Maybe I’ll just turn him,” she hummed thoughtfully. “He is a handsome one, I could see what the appeal is.” 

Okay, _ew_. She was like, 35. 

Derek let out another growl, he was panting heavily - and Jesus Christ - seemed to be getting _larger_ , somehow, in his shift. Less human and more like the monstrosity that Peter was. 

Feral. He was getting _feral_ \- like...like he had no control. Like his anchor was slipping away. 

But why would he--

Oh. 

_Oh._

The wave of _pure joy_ at the realization that maybe _Stiles_ was Derek’s anchor seemed to throw the alpha behind him off, because he heard her voice falter in confusion. 

He stilled, counting silently, timed it perfectly when he knew she’d opened her mouth to say something else -- then slammed his hand backwards, smashing the vial of wolfsbane and mountain ash he had.

Always underestimating the humans. 

A terrifying snarl of rage came from the alpha as she pinwheeled backwards - not before digging her claws in and running them across his throat, like she was determined to not be the only one in agony.. 

Stiles slapped his hand to his throat, feeling his throat fill with blood, and could taste the metallic tang of it in his mouth. His vision blurred for a minute (or was it several?) and when he came to he was on the floor, head in Derek’s lap and the sound of howling coming from behind them - where the betas were attempting to bound a feral Erica and Boyd - the two alphas on the ground on the other end. 

His ears rang, and he could vaguely hear Derek saying _something,_ along with variations of his name. He heard the alpha bark something to the others, before scooping up Stiles in his arms and _running._

Somewhere in the back of his mind, where the pain wasn’t as overwhelming, he was complaining about the fact that he was being carried like some god-damn maidan in a historic film _again_ , but then his vision blurred once more, and he gave into the pain and gladly blacked out. 

******

Getting injured hurts plenty, sure. Obviously getting your throat clawed by an evil Alpha Bitch would hurt plenty. 

But, as Stiles had oh so unfortunately learned these past few months, he found that the waking up always hurt _more_. 

After a blissful stretch on unconsciousness, waking up made you feel like _hell_. Made you feel like you wanted to do nothing more than to fall back to sleep, but of course everything hurt too much so you couldn’t exactly do that. 

Thankfully, at least, getting your throat clawed didn’t hurt as much as having a couple of broken ribs -- but it still _hurt_. 

Also, the way he’s been getting familiarized with the hospital was concerning too. 

He woke up, fully expecting a tense Derek and maybe even a Scott sitting by his bed, but when he saw who was clutching onto his hand, he flinched violently. 

His dad.

“Dad,” he croaked, relief flooding through him when he realized he could still _speak_ , it must not have been that deep then. 

His dad looked so exhausted it immediately made him guilty. No parent should have to look like that, especially not _his_ dad. Especially not after everything Stiles has already made him go through. 

“ _Werewolves_ , Stiles? Really?” 

His panic must have been evident on his face because he just sighed, running a hand down his face. “Derek told me. With a demonstration and everything.” 

His heart was still pounding furiously in his throat, and he felt like he was moments away from a panic attack. Something beeped furiously in the room, and it took him a moment to realize it was his heart monitor. 

His dad stood immediately, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, and looked him straight in the eye. “ _Son_ . It’s okay. You’re okay. I’m _okay_. I’m not mad.” 

It took him a few minutes, but his dad stayed there with him while Stiles calmed himself down, adrenaline still pumping through his veins. 

Finally, when he felt like he wouldn’t scream the second he opened his mouth, he said. “At least it’s not drugs.” 

The Sheriff laughed, a slightly hysterical edge to it as he sunk back into the chair. “Jesus, Stiles.” he breathed finally. “ _Werewolves_.” 

“I know, Dad. Trust me, I know.” 

“The night of the lacrosse game?” Of course his dad would piece it together as quickly as possible.

He winced, seeing no reason to hide it anymore. “Uh, werewolf _hunter_ actually.” Paused and debated for a little before continuing. “Gerard.” 

“Argent?” his dad said in surprise. “The one whose body was found?”

_What_? “He’s dead?” Stiles repeated, sitting up quick enough for his vision to spin a little. “When? How? Where’d you find him?” 

His dad raised a brow, and he reluctantly sunk back into his pillows. 

“At the Alpha’s place,” his dad explained, and Stiles jerked a little when the word came out of his dad’s mouth. “He was dead already, it seemed like he was for days. Covered in black liquid of some sort.” 

“Mountain ash.” Stiles said, more to himself, as he nodded. He felt like an unknown weight was lifted from his shoulders. “Thank _God_.” 

His father gave him another pointed look at that, but stood up with a grunt, like he agreed. “I need to go settle some things down at the station regarding Argent’s body. We’ll discuss this in more detail later, as well as everything else that you’d been hiding from me for the past year.” 

Stiles squirmed just a _little_. “Fine.”

“ _Including_ the fact that you’re only seventeen and may or may not be dating a twenty three year old Alpha _werewolf_ , that’s _also_ an ex fugitive... _that you accused_.” 

“Technically,” Stiles said weakly, “ _Scott_ accused him.” 

Both brows shot up now. “But you don’t deny that you’re dating him?” 

“I mean,” Stiles paused, mulling it over. “Not _yet_?” 

His father sighed again, clearly catching the implication behind the _yet_ tagged at the end of the sentence, then lightly clapped him on the back and headed out.

*****

Scott came to visit him next, arms flailing as he explained what happened since Stiles blacked out (no, he didn’t _faint_ Scott, he _blacked out_ for fucks sake, like a real man) then revealed how Erica and Boyd were now recovering back at the loft, and _oh my god Stiles they found Gerard’s body at the Alpha’s hideout!_

About ten minutes into Scott’s rant, the door swung open again - revealing a tired Jackson and Isaac, and an ever so gorgeous Lydia. Isaac bounced right over to Stiles, swiping the back of his hand on his neck like he was scenting him, while both Lydia and Jackson tried their best to act like they _weren’t_ relieved that Stiles was okay. 

“Heard you still got your voice, Stilinski.” Jackson said, “A shame.”

“Knew you’d miss my sexy voice, Jackson, don’t you worry.” he sent him a saucy wink for good measure, that was just answered with a snort a gentler-than-usual smack on the head. 

He turned to Lydia, who was glaring at him - her eyes red rimmed. “Don’t you dare do that to us again,” she warned. “You can’t leave me as the only human left in the group.” He didn’t want to point out that technically she wasn’t exactly _human_ , and that even if stiles were to die, Danny was still pack, but he understood the underlying concern -- so instead he sent her a small but sincere smile in response, which she returned. 

“Now can you all get out,” he groaned, pretending to yawn, looking out the window to sun dipping lower in the sky. “I kinda want to sleep for the next couple of years.” Those all-nighters they’ve been pulling for the past couple of days to pull together this plan (which didn’t even end up working out) actually did make him tired, so there was no skip in his heart to indicate that he was lying. 

They all started piling out, Scott pausing with a promise of returning the next day, until Lydia was the last one to leave - turning to eye at him with a smug look. “He hasn’t left the waiting room.” she said, conversationally. “He’s probably roaming the hospital somewhere, pretending he isn’t still in the same clothes he wore, covered in your blood when he came running in here carrying you like a hero in some movie.” 

Of course Lydia knew the real reason why he wanted them out.

“Why did I ever like you again?” he scowled. 

She smirked. “I guess you just have a type.” 

And - woah okay that was actually kind of accurate but there was no way he was letting her know that.

She left with a swish of her perfect red curls, looking like she’d just stepped out a magazine and not newly returned from an all out battle with a pack of alpha werewolves. 

Okay so maybe he _did_ have a type.

*****

While Stiles waited idly, his mind raced - flying back to that one conversation he’d mulled out for a couple of days before promptly forgetting. Now, it seemed to make more sense.

_Stiles was at the Hale loft, pouring over piles of papers about the Alpha hierarchy and how exactly it worked, when he paused and turned to Derek, who was seated at his usual place on his couch. Peter was sitting in the corner in his favourite armchair, reading of all things, probably a book called;_ **_“How to Kill Nephew and Become Alpha Without Pissing Pack Off.”_ **

_“How does this pack’s hierarchy work?” he wondered, chewing on the end of his pen. “I mean, you're the top, obviously-” he choked on the world, only now realizing how suggestive it was, then quickly rushed over, trying to ignore the way his face burned, “but who's next? I mean, I guess the second would be next, right?”_

_“Typically,” Peter answered instead, his shit-eating grin returning. “But in some instances there’s someone else who’s the … top in the pack.” Stiles tried not shuddering in disgust at how Peter said the word top. Just … ew._

_“Who? There can’t be like, two Alpha’s right?” Well both Derek and Scott lead the pack in a way, but at the end of the day even Scott deferred to Derek._

_Peter smirked, his eyes dancing with pure delight as he looked towards Derek. “Why don’t you tell him, Derek?”_

_Derek growled, his eyes flashing as he glowered at the teenager. “Just focus on what you’re doing,” he snarled. And that was that._

The tell-tale sound of leather was what alerted him to Derek’s presence. And he felt like a fucking boss when he sat up and said; “I’ve been awaiting you.” 

Derek froze, reminding him of that one night a couple of months ago, when this all first began. 

“You should be asleep.” the alpha said, almost accusingly. 

“And you shouldn’t be sneaking into the sheriff’s son’s hospital room but...here we are.” 

Derek straightened, his hand twitched like he wanted to head back out the window. “I can leave.” The moonlight lit him up from behind, casting Derek in a way that he seemed to shine; leather jacket, perfectly tousled hair, stubble, cheekbones that Stiles just wanted to _lick_. 

“Don’t be an idiot,” he scoffed, sticking his hands out in _gimme_ hands, “Come here.” 

Dutifully, Derek stalked towards him, hesitated briefly before settling his warm hand onto Stiles skin and taking the pain. 

Stiles sighed, sinking back against the pillows. “ _Way_ better than drugs.” he moaned, when he looked up the tips of Derek’s ears were red. 

“So,” he licked his lips nervously. “Obviously there’s something we should talk about.”

He didn’t think it was possible for Derek to scowl harder, but somehow the Alpha managed to do it. “I get it okay,” he spat. “Just ignore it and I’ll go away. It’s not like it’s official or anything.” 

Stiles nodded. “Unbonded right?” 

Derek gave a jerk of his head that probably meant to be a nod. 

Stiles looked down, fidgeted, toying with the strands of his bedding. “So how does this mate business work?” he asked quietly. 

Derek’s head shot back up, and Stiles could feel his scorching gaze on the side of his face - but he pointedly kept his gaze down.”An Alpha,” Derek’s voice cracked just a little. “Usually has a mate. It’s rare to actually find them, most don’t, but some who are lucky enough find them.” his voice dropped. “Like my parents.” 

And Jesus, like he was wrecking Stiles already with his kicked-puppy look. It was embarrassing how the skips in his heart were not only audible to Derek, but to him too now, like it was determined to be part of the conversation. 

“So it’s like you imprinted on me?” 

The flat look he gets in returns has him grinning. “No.” Derek growled, “This isn’t Twilight.” 

“Hey, you’re the one who knew what I was talking about.” 

Derek looks torn between fond exasperation and a scowl, and just like that they’re back to being themselves. 

“Since when?” he asked, because he had a slight suspicion - but he wanted it confirmed, really. 

“Since I first saw you,” Derek muttered, looking more and more like the grumpy cat Stiles called him. “I felt the tug then, first. It wasn’t as strong until later.” 

“Which was?” he pushed, unable to hold back his curiosity. 

Derek grit his teeth, a low growl emitting from behind them. But Stiles only gave him a flat look in return, and he answered reluctantly. “Since the night with the kanima, in the pool.” he scowls, like he’s remembering the night. “You held me up for hours. It was when I knew I trusted you.” 

Wow. He wondered...how many things that's happened since then - or maybe even before - that Derek was somehow involved in, saving his ass? How many things did he notice, and how many did he fail to, the ones he thought were pure luck. His lips purse, and he studies the older man, before asking, “How would one accept the bond?” 

Stiles never knew Derek’s eyes could get so wide, or so expressive. He would be lying if he said it didn’t make him preen a little. 

Derek swallowed audibly. “T-they would let the Alpha court them.” he said hoarsely. “Officially court them. Then when they’re of age and could legally consent - it would just take a bite.” 

Stiles flinched. “I have to become a _werewolf_?”

“No, no,” Derek rushed to correct himself. “It’s a different type of bite. A mate bond bite. It’s,” his ears glowed red. “Kind of permanent.” 

Stiles nodded to show he understood, then shifted over the small hospital bed - determined to make space. Because he and Derek were apparently mates dammit, and now he could totally say the word cuddle without whispering. 

Derek just watched him, watched him like _Stiles_ was the powerful Alpha, like _Stiles_ had the power to actually hurt him - not the other way around. 

He patted the space he managed to make on the bed, and Derek immediately slipped off his jacket and his boots and slid in next to him, his arms immediately going to their regular places around his waist. 

Stiles twisted so that he was facing the man instead, and saw that he was already watching Stiles. He inhaled the scent of _Derek_ , of safety and pack and _home._ Then, he raised his hand, Derek watching him warily the whole time, and brushed his stubble lightly with his finger. 

“I think we should try dating first.” he whispered, voice husky from feeling all of Derek pressed against him on the tiny bed. “And then move on to the eternal life bonding bit.” 

Derek’s face looked shocked, like this was something he never thought would happen -- like Stiles was some fucking lottery he’d only hoped and prayed and wished to get but knew he could never reach for. “Okay.” he breathed back. 

Stiles cupped his face, then leaned in and pressed his lips against his -- just a light brush of skin against skin, before pulling back.

Only to be greeted by the softest, most beautiful smile he’d ever fucking seen. 

So yeah, Stiles didn’t really know when this became a thing. But boy was he glad it did. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i saw some requests asking for a sequel to this...and this came out! I sat for hours straight and cranked this one out, once i stopped I really couldn't stop. 
> 
> Hope you liked it!

**Author's Note:**

> Twas a little angsty, hope you liked it all the same!


End file.
